


Weapons In Bed

by tielan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agent And Assassin, Community: trope_bingo, F/M, Intimacy, On the Run, Waking Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HYDRA’s still looking for their pet assassin, the CIA has disavowed her as a traitor, and she can’t trust Barnes with anyone she knows from S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers. And that’s not even counting the dangers of sleeping together on the hideaway’s couch, piled like a pair of lost and disowned puppies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weapons In Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).



> So...I have a new ship?
> 
> Requested by scribblemyname, who prompted me for _Sharon/Bucky, deal with the devil_ in Trope Bingo

Sharon wakes warm, her cheekbone pressed up against a solid wall of muscle barely covered by fabric. It moves slightly, lifting, rising, expanding, before falling again. A slow and steady counterbeat pulses by her temple, arrhythmic to the rise and fall under her cheek. Her fingers twitch – then twitch again as the tips brush bare skin, and a warm palm traces a soft and sensuous circle in the small of her back.

Memory takes a moment; the firefight, the run, the hideout, the couch. She didn’t even take off her shoulder harness, the weight of her guns comforting after two days on the run, the weight of sleep undeniable after two nights of stress.

“Can hear you thinking.” Barnes’ words vibrate through hard muscle and cotton tee, a human mattress on which she fell asleep last night.

“We should move on.”

HYDRA’s still looking for their pet assassin, the CIA has disavowed her as a traitor, and she can’t trust Barnes with anyone she knows from S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers. And that’s not even counting the dangers of sleeping together on the hideaway’s couch, piled like a pair of lost and disowned puppies.

“That’d require moving.” His voice is reminiscent of Friday nights spent in, and lazy Saturday mornings, and the hand in the small of her back keeps stroking her spine in hypnotic rhythm. The soft, caressing movement is as lulling as the warmth of him under her cheek, the scent of him in her nostrils, the feel of him under her fingertips.

Lust is familiar enough – Sharon has an eye for a good looking guy, and the guys almost always eye her back. But she chooses her partners carefully – she doesn’t want to make life difficult for herself by choosing inadvisably as Morse did – no more than she wants to cut herself off from sexual intimacy as Hill’s chosen to do.

But this is all wrong, unwise, dangerous. More than any other man Sharon’s known – personally, intellectually, or sexually – the Winter Soldier is off-limits.

If only her body remembered it, because it - _she_ \- shifts, the sensuous stretch of breast and belly and hips into the lines of a hard body in the morning. And it’s his turn to tense; thighs and belly bracing as she shifts. Beneath her temple, the heartbeat catches, picks up up the pace. And Sharon plants her hands on the mattress either side of him and pushes herself up. The guns in her harness swing a little, shifting her balance, and the resultant drag of her hips over his isn’t _precisely_ accidental, but she wasn’t intend it this explicit – core to core, an ignition spark.

There’s a moment when the look in his eyes isn’t the man he is now – the Winter Soldier – but the man he used to be – the wartime soldier with a smile and wink for every woman he met. Not a womaniser like Stark, but with a charm for and appreciation of the ladies that was as natural to him as breathing. And what kindles in Sharon isn’t mere lust, but a startling rush of desire – more than mere sex, but a yen to know the man he was, to have him in her bed and her body, taking her over with him, slow and easy and very, very thorough.

Then blood and ghosts veil him, leaving the Winter Soldier tense and careful beneath her.

Sharon’s eyes narrow as something fills her, smooth as rage, hot as adrenaline. She moves against him, slow and deliberate, and revels in the restrained quiver of his body beneath hers.

“So is it just the arm, or did they replace…other parts of you, too?” She flicks a finger against his metal arm with a _ting_ , and then – just because she wants to – grinds down on him again. The hard press of metal against her tailbone is a shock, but she manages to find her voice, arch in breathless surprise. “Too forward for you, Barnes?”

Metal fingers splay across her buttocks, pressing her hard up against a hot and rising ridge that’s most definitely flesh and blood beneath the denim. “Actually,” he says in a voice more resonance than tone, “I think you’d look good on me in just the weapons harness and the shirt. But this isn’t the time.”

Sharon swallows, her body thrilling to the image before she stills the betraying shiver. “Then I’ll take a raincheck.”

He studies her for enough heartbeats that her cheeks are growing hot before the hand on her butt lets her up.

When she gets up this time, she’s more careful about climbing off him. But a pulse throbs between her thighs as she moves away, and when their gazes meet and mesh as they’re getting ready to leave, heat slides beneath her skin: slick as the sheen on his arm, heavy as the weight of her weapons.


End file.
